


Convalescence

by Jay_Wells



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: Detective Zoë Kramer is sick, and someone needs to makes sure she doesn’t succumb to the flu or get kidnapped. Farah volunteers.





	Convalescence

The detective pried her eyes open at the sound of the alarm. The shrill, piercing shriek was never particularly pleasant, but this morning it was painful. She forced herself to sit up, but even that seemed to be too much today. “Ugh, I think I’m getting sick.” 

It would be her luck. She survived a mad scientist vampire attempting a blood transfusion on her (which no one would believe even if she could tell them and it wasn’t _fair_ ), only to be felled by the flu. With a groan, she stood up and shuffled across the wooden floor, cocooned in her comforter.

Unit Bravo was already up and ready to go. Ava stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Uh, Detective?” Farah grinned. “You wouldn’t be planning your metamorphosis, would you?”

“No.” She maneuvered past them to the little kitchenette where the coffee was already brewing. “Nat, you’re a saint.”

Nat smiled graciously. “It was no trouble, Detective.” Her smile almost faltered as she eyed the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Is there a reason that you’re ensconced?” 

“Too cold,” Zoë explained. She debated whether or not to eat something. She probably should, but her stomach was threatening mutiny if she did. With a sigh she turned away from the fridge.

Morgan grunted from her corner in what might have been agreement. It was hard to tell, but it sounded less hostile than her usual scoff. 

“It’s nearly seventy degrees out.” Nat paused for a moment and scrunched her brow in concentration, like she was listening for something. “Detective, have you taken ill?” 

“Yeah.” Her almost-inaudible voice sounded scratchy and strained.“I think I might call in sick.”

“That would be advisable,” Ava said briskly. “You won’t be much use like this.”

Farah snorted. “Might want to work on your bedside manner.”

Zoë almost laughed, but her headache resurfaced and she winced. “I think I’m going to go back to bed for a while. If somebody could tell them down at the station that I’m going to languish in bed for the day, I would be grateful.” 

Before any of them could comment, she retreated to her room and dropped face first into the pillows.

 

* * *

 

Farah glanced between Ava and Nat. “So what now?”

“We can’t just all call in sick because the detective did,” Nat pointed out. “It would seem odd.” 

“The detective shouldn’t be left alone in the apartment. She’s a sitting duck, especially when ill,” Ava said. “One of us needs to remain here.”

“I will,” Farah volunteered.

Nat frowned. “Have you ever taken care of a sick person before?”

“How hard can it be?”

Ava winced. “When you say that, it tends to translate that you have no idea.”

Farah crossed her arms and scowled. “I’ll research it while she’s zonked out. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Nat still looked doubtful, but Morgan stood up and crossed the room in a few steps. “If she wants to babysit the detective for a few hours, let her.” Morgan wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t want to be the one cleaning her puke up.”

She grinned triumphantly at Nat. “See? Morgan has faith in me.”

“Alright,” Nat conceded. “Call me if you need assistance. And don’t bother the detective too much. She needs rest. And—”

“I got it,” Farah interrupted, trying to relax. Nat always said her face would freeze like that if she scowled. It sounded like the kind of thing Nat said when she didn't want Farah to have any fun, but she wasn't taking chances. “The detective will be alive, in one piece and in the same place you left her. Well, not exactly the same place, but you get it.”

After a few more minutes of Nat’s hovering, Ava reminded her that they would be late. Farah waved goodbye cheerily until the door clicked shut behind them. She booted up the detective’s ancient laptop (she insisted it had served her faithfully many a year and buying a new one was a betrayal) and typed “what to do for sick people” into the search bar.  


A few hours later, the detective re-emerged from her room, still wrapped in her blanket. She blinked a few times at Farah and tilted her head to the side. She croaked out a weak “hey” and took a stumbling step forward.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Farah grinned. “They left me here to guard you. You snored away a hundred years!”

The detective only managed a slow nod. Farah’s grin faltered. The detective really did look awful. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, her cheeks were an unnaturally bright shade of pink, and her breathing was laboured. Farah stood up, crossed the room and wrapped an arm around the detective’s waist. “You want to sit on the couch?”

Zoë nodded mutely and allowed herself to be guided. Farah eased her down and straightened, eyeing the sickly detective for a minute. “I can make you some breakfast, if you want.”

Another nod.

Farah clapped her hands together once. “Alright, I’ll be back.”

The kitchen was a little cluttered. Empty mugs in want of washing congregated on the counter next to the sink. A jar of peanut butter that had yet to make its way to the cupboard sat out. Old receipts, grocery lists and bills were stuck to the fridge. Nat, with her insatiable need to organize things, side-eyed it at least once a day, but Farah liked it. It looked lived-in.

The website said sick people needed Vitamin C, so Farah clambered on top of the counter to reach the glasses. When she checked the fridge, however, it was bereft of orange juice.

Ah, well. The next thing it suggested was a hot toddy, so Farah filled the kettle with water and set on the stove.

At the end of it all, the eggs were a little overdone at the edges and the sausages were a bit scorched, but it looked mostly all right. Pleased with her work, Farah carried it in to the detective.

 

* * *

 

Zoë’s stomach roiled at the sight of sausage and eggs, but Farah looked so earnest she couldn’t bring herself to say so. So she smiled, croaked out a thank you, and forced it down. The…honeyed tea, maybe?…went down a lot easier, even if it tasted a little funny.

Farah seemed anxious. She checked her temperature more often than was probably necessary. “You’re really hot.”

“My brain’s melting as we speak,” she joked.

Farah’s eyes widened in terror for the briefest moment before realizing it was meant in jest. She laughed.

Zoë winced at the sound. It really was getting harder to focus… “Farah, what did you put in the tea?”

“Whatever the recipe said.” She shrugged. “Tea, honey, cinnamon, whiskey.”

“Do vampires get sick?” She had a feeling she knew the answer.

“No. Thinking about turning?” she teased.

Zoë smiled weakly. “It’s just that you’re not supposed to drink whiskey when you have the flu. I thought maybe you didn’t know.”

Farah’s shoulders drooped and a light blush appeared on her cheeks. She pulled at a loose thread on her hat and said, “The website said it helps your throat.”

“It does, but… the honey and tea do that on their own. Alcohol dehydrates you.” She held up the towel she’d been using to mop up her sweat. “And I’m doing enough of that on my own.”

“You won’t tell Nat, will you?” Farah pulled her hands away from her hat and set them in her lap. They continued to fidget, almost of their own accord, like she was incapable of sitting still.

Zoë reached out and took her hand. “Of course not. It’s between you and me.”

Farah stared at their hands for a long moment before giving a genuine smile. “Thanks, again.”

She was beautiful when she smiled—well, she was always beautiful—but especially when she smiled. Everything seemed a little brighter when she did.

Zoë’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden wave of nausea. “An aspirin and a water will help. But first I need to vomit.”

Farah didn’t immediately react. Then her smile was replaced with a look of wide-eyed panic. “Oh, crap.”

 

* * *

 

The last of the credits disappeared over the top of the screen and it returned to the title screen. Zoë blinked twice and furrowed her brow. Hadn’t they just pressed play? She tried to sit up, only to find a napping vampire tangled in her blanket. Farah was snoring softly next to her on the couch, head lolling back and mouth hanging open. Zoë smiled. Even asleep Farah demanded attention.

She freed one of her hands from the blanket and reached up to fix the hat that had slipped down over Farah’s eyes.

The sound of a key entering a lock jolted Farah awake and Zoë retracted her hand almost too fast for Farah to notice. Farah grinned, but kept her eyes on the door. She untangled herself from the blanket, and Zoë missed the warmth.

The door opened and the rest of Unit Bravo filed into the living room with grocery bags.

“We stopped at the store and picked up a few things recommended to combat influenza,” Ava said. She set a bag on the counter and began sorting. 

Morgan dropped her bags in the kitchen as well and retreated to the darkest corner she could find.

“Did everything go well?” Nat asked, pressing a wrist to the Zoë’s forehead. “You still feel warm.”

“I feel a lot better, actually,” she assured her.

Nat glanced at the water glass and bottle of aspirin on the end table approvingly. “I’m glad. You should probably take tomorrow off as well, though.”

“We’ll see how I feel in the morning.” She turned to Farah. “Thanks for taking care of me, Farah.”

“Anytime, Detective,” she replied. She looked pleased with herself.

Zoë settled back onto the couch and hit play on the movie again.


End file.
